


things my heart used to know

by allthelight



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Pre-Canon, basically Marisa and Asriel stepping to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22165498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthelight/pseuds/allthelight
Summary: "What he feels when he looks at her is powerful, and he doesn’t know what to label it. It’s certain that he’s never felt it before. For a moment the world tilts off its axis and he forgets where he is, forgets the years, and it’s like none of it happened at all."Asriel and Marisa meet at a ball, years since they saw each other last. They can't quite keep away from one another.
Relationships: Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	things my heart used to know

**Author's Note:**

> -This might be slightly AU because I've only read Northern Lights but I had most of it written before I could even stop myself. I tried to keep it as vague as possible just in case.   
> -This is from Asriel's POV and he's angry and that's why this seems a bit heavy towards Marisa. I do love her really. -Title from 'Once Upon a December' from Anastasia  
> -I hope you enjoy!

It’s the monkey he sees first.

Asriel and Stelmaria are by the window of the great ballroom, breaths fogging up the glass as they look out into the dark gardens below but instead see the frozen wastelands of a North they both long to return to. The party has bored them, and they are only here to obtain funds and good favour to use at a later date. It’s been a few years since The Scandal has occurred and the gossip surrounding it has long since died down. Asriel finds he’s getting rather good at it, spinning stories to spin money. He hates it, of course, but it’s getting easier.

The lights at this party are soft and extremely favourable and it’s just a hint of a gold reflection he sees in the window, nothing more. A glint of gold that moves around the reflected room. He notices it and dismisses it and it’s Stelmaria, who whips around like lightning, that makes him do the same.

“Asriel…” she says, her voice low. “ _Look._ ”

He follows her gaze to the golden monkey, notices how her fur stands on end at the sight of him. Asriel’s own gaze loses interest in the monkey immediately, and instead travels to the woman walking in front of it.

What he feels when he looks at her is powerful, and he doesn’t know what to label it. It’s certain that he’s never felt it before. For a moment the world tilts off its axis and he forgets where he is, forgets the years, and it’s like none of it happened at all.

He hasn’t seen her in years and can only assume she’s done what he has been doing, that is avoiding any place they might meet. He doesn’t stay long in London, not anymore, and as he understands she rarely ventures out of it. He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t expected her here tonight, but it was more that he’d hoped. Even the sight of her, far away as she is, makes him angry now.

“Pay her no attention,” he says tightly, turning back to the window. “We shall be leaving soon, in any case.”

“We need the money before we do that.”

“And we’ll get it,” he tells her, looking back out at the night. “But if we are seen with her then we’ll set everybody’s ears alight. It will do us no good.”

Stelmaria comes in closer and drops her voice even further. “Do you think she knows about the girl?”

Lyra. Asriel’s jaw tightens. “I suppose so, yes. She has her ways.” A beat, thinking. “We’ll stop in at Jordan before we leave.”

He sees the golden monkey in the window again, getting larger, coming closer. He is standing in the furthest corner of the ballroom which is full of people all trying to impress. She’s just walked in the door. It’s unlikely that she has seen him.

“You saw her,” Stelmaria reminds him, responding to his unspoken thought, and he just throws her a look.

Unable to visualise the North again, unable to get lost in his own head, he sighs and turns around, facing back into the room. All of these people… He used to be one of them. Lands and riches dripping from his fingers. Ever since _her_ he’s been demoted. He’s still a Lord, still imposing and charming, but it’s different now. His eyes, of their own accord, slide to Marisa. It’s all different now.

She looks good, there’s no denying that. Clearly the years and betrayal have been kind to her. Her dress is a blue satin, perfectly matching the colour of her eyes, and even in her heels she glides across the floor, seemingly floating. As Asriel looks further, he notices that the earrings she wears in her ears are a pair that her husband gave her, the diamond drops glittering in the light. She goes to pick up a glass and on her left hand he spies a ring.

The anger returns full force. It is too much.

“We’re leaving,” he tells Stelmaria and she offers no argument. He puts down his glass and, clinging to the wall, he begins to make for the door. There shall be other parties and other benefactors. In fact if he’s going to Jordan anyway then he might as well try his hand with the scholars there. He just knows he has to leave right now, lest anything else should happen. He finds it impossible to be himself when Marisa Coulter is around.

He manages to leave the ballroom without too much trouble, and it is only when he is in a darkly lit room, looking for wherever the maid put his coat, that he hears the click of heels and the soft purr from Stelmaria’s throat that means the golden monkey is about.

“My Lord Asriel.” Her voice slithers up his spine, soft and knowing. “What a wonderful surprise. I didn’t think you ventured into London these days.”

The only reason she would have to seek him out would be because she wants something. This isn’t the old days, when they snuck into dark corners for the thrill of it. It hasn’t escaped his attention that she wasn’t quite brave enough to confront him in the open.

“Mrs. Coulter,” he replies, turning around to face her. He watches what his use of her name does to her and he enjoys it. “I was just leaving.”

“So I can see.” Her eyes dance. “But why so soon? I thought we could use this unexpected opportunity to catch up.”

He wants to leave, but there’s something in her voice that makes him stay. She’s confident, overly so, and there’s a reason for it. He used to enjoy the games she played with men to get what she wanted, in fact he rather admired it. Now he feels an ounce of pity for them.

“As much as I would love to, I’m going back North very soon.” Out of the corner of his eye he watches the golden monkey sit at her feet, reaching slightly forward. Stelmaria remains by his feet, stony-faced, and barely blinking.

There’s a hungry look in her eyes at the mention of the North, one that brings him satisfaction. While he has been researching, venturing further than others dare, she has been here, trying to repair her ruined reputation. He’s heard, through various sources, that now she tries with the Magisterium. As if he couldn’t dislike her more.

“Oh?” One perfect eyebrow rises. “Well now, that is a pity.” She drops his eyes for a moment, smiling at the ground. “Tell me, do you plan on visiting Jordan College before you leave?”

His heart rate rises. Stelmaria lets out an imperceptible growl. “Perhaps,” he says at length, saying nothing else.

He knows Marisa can sense his discomfort; he can see the glee it brings to her face. The monkey’s tail begins to swing. She steps closer and says nothing else.

“What do you want, Marisa?”

‘I want to see the girl.”

With her admission she loses grip of the control, hands over to him with a single sentence. The monkey withdraws to her feet. Stelmaria’s tail begins to sway.

It’s a glorious feeling to have the reins once again. “And why,” he begins, voice as smooth as hers was, “would I let you do that?”

Lyra’s four now. The last letter he got from the Master told him of her gaining freedom, breaking out of lessons and running loose about the halls. A wild thing. The image of Marisa ever meeting her… well, the thought makes him laugh.

Her face twists. “She’s not only yours, Asriel. I want to see her.”

“Why now, after all of these years, do you suddenly show an interest in her? You didn’t want her.”

“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind.”

“No, you haven’t,” he laughs, a low and breathy sound. “You found out where she is and you wanted me to know it.”

Marisa scrabbles for control, he watches the panic behind her eyes. She’s always been able to pretend to everybody else but not to him. No, he knows her too well for that.

He speaks before she can say anything, to end their little dance. “Spare me your lies. I don’t care what you have to say. I won’t allow you to see her.”

The monkey chatters nervously. The sound grates in his ears. He’s bored now, bored of Marisa and all of the drama. This was a mistake. He should not have come.

“You don’t want her,” she hisses, low and dangerous. Her eyes have a flash of _something_ in them. He’s made her angry it seems, which in turn angers him. What does she have to be angry about? He lost more than she ever did.

“Be careful what you say...” he tells her but she pays him no heed.

“You don’t want her. You only want her so I don’t have her. You like the control.”

“You don’t know anything about what I want.”

It’s a lie and he knows it and Marisa knows it and Stelmaria and the Monkey know it. A longing for the old days creeps into his heart and he banishes it immediately.

Marisa sees her chance. “I know everything about you,” she says silkily. “We used to talk, remember? We used to talk about things… _such_ things.”

“Times have changed,” he says flatly. “You do know me as well as you think you do, not anymore.”

She knows him completely, and he knows her the same, and nothing used to matter except that. There was a time when he thought he would take the universe apart for her and put it back together again how she saw fit. Now there’s just a hollow part of his heart, a place where nothing shall grow again. She destroyed a part of him when she deserted him, let them take everything and did nothing to stop it. He won’t let her hurt Lyra like that.

“Don’t lie to me, Asriel,” she says, and her voice is deceiving in its smoothness. It takes him back. “Don’t pretend that you care for her.”

He scoffs. ‘And don’t you pretend that you know anything about the feeling.”

“Let me see her,” she tries again. Marisa will not beg, he knows that much of her, but she won’t give up. He used to admire that about her, her ambition and sureness of step. Everybody else was afraid of his research, afraid of what it might bring about but not Marisa, never Marisa.

There’s a smile on his face, an ugly curl of the lip. Sometimes he looks at her and feels as though he is drunk of her, and then she speaks and all he hears is the deafening nothing that came spilling out back then and it’s very sobering.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I won’t allow that.”

“She is not only _yours_ ,” she says, in something almost akin to a growl. “I want to see her.”

“Then use her name, Marisa. Use the name you never gave her. Oh, you can’t, can you? You can’t bring yourself to. The truth is that you don’t want her and you never have. You want to use her to climb your greasy pole.” He steps towards her as Stelmaria steps to the monkey. “Your sex failed you and your marriage failed you and so now the Church is your only option. Of course the affair didn’t help you and neither does the bastard child that you refused to claim responsibility for. But now – and this is clever, I shall give you that – you want her so you can declare yourself in front of them all, that you are a mother now and that your intentions are pure. You want to redeem yourself in their eyes and proclaim yourself before the Authority that yes, you sinned but look at what you made of it. Look at what you have become!”

Marisa has ended up with her back against the wall. She remains calm but she forgets that he knows her, too. Her can see the way her fingernails dig into her palm and her eyes dart quickly around the room. The music from the party is still audible; it’s still in full swing and they have barely raised their voices in all the time they’ve been in here. Nobody will come to interrupt. And anyway, he’s just leaving.

“You lost, Marisa,” he says, voice deceptively soft. “Accept it.”

“I wasn’t aware we were playing a game,” she replies, her tone matching his in its insincerity. People have the good sense to be afraid of Asriel, but they never seem to learn when it comes to her. It’s ready far too late when they realise their mistake.

He laughs, a distrusting sound. There’s a flicker of unease in her eyes and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

“Oh weren’t you just? It’s always a game to you. You’re just biding your time, waiting to make your next move. You forget how well I know you.”

She smiles slowly, looking up at him through her lashes. He knows that look. He threw away everything for that look.

“And you forget,” she purrs, “that things have changed over the years. That was what you said, wasn’t it? Just then? Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Oh, but she’s wrong and she knows it. Marisa may know Asriel, but Asriel knows her right back. Even when she betrayed him it was not a surprise, not entirely. On some level he knew. Marisa has never lied about her ambition.

His mouth twists. He pushes her further into the wall. Memories, of all sorts, rush through his head. The monkey hisses but Marisa keeps on smiling.

“You’re predicable,” he tells her, leaning in close. There’s barely any space between them now. “You like to think you’re not but you are.”

She cleans closer to, until he feels her warm breath on his cheek. “Then why are you getting so worked up then, mm? Why does it bother you so much?”

Sometimes he can’t fathom how he ever felt the way he did.

“I despise you,” he hisses, releasing her, no longer interested in playing anymore. He just wants to be on his way.

“What’s the mater, Asriel?” She laughs daintily. “Can’t handle me anymore, is that it?”

Rarely, extremely rarely, he wonders what it would have been like if none of it happened at all. If Lyra were never born, if she didn’t look so much like him, if Edward had never found out of if Asriel had never killed him. If he’d never met Marisa in the first place. The thought, however brief, causes an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. These things, however bad, however good, have happened and he just gets on with it.

That’s not to say he’s forgotten. There’s a war coming, he’s sure of it. Not just yet but not so far away, either. He looks at Marisa. Once upon a time he would have said that they would be on the same side, only now he’s not so sure.

“It’s just as well that you aren’t the one raising her,” she says, stepping away from the wall and adjusting her dress. “That you left her with those dreary scholars and their dreary ways at Jordan. You’re too reckless, Asriel. You’re much too impulsive to be a father.”

“Then it’s just as well I’m not her father, isn’t it?”

It isn’t until he feels a glare levelled at him, coming from Stelmaria, that he realises what it is he’s just said.

The smile slips from her face. “You mean she doesn’t know?” Marisa looks vulnerable and it catches him off guard once again. “About any of it?”

“She knows nothing,” Asriel replies and tries to feel nothing as he does. “It keeps her safe.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.”

The way she falters, seems as a loss for anything else to say makes him angry. “Don’t pretend that you care, that you have grown a heart,” he tells her. “You have made it quite clear that you would have been just as happy if Edward had killed the girl and then killed me on top of it.”

She’s in front of him in a second. “Don’t say that,” she snaps, something flashing in her eyes. “Don’t you _ever_ say that to me.”

‘Why not? Isn’t it only the truth?” He goads her and cannot stop, anything to take away the ghost of vulnerability. “Go on then, Marisa. There’s no pretending with us. Tell me you would have preferred it.”

She looks up at him again, lip curling chillingly, never down for long. “Yes,” she murmurs. “Maybe I would.”

She smiles sweetly, an illusion of innocence, and he knows that when this is over she will go out there and charm them all and they will forget that she was one half of a scandal. They always do.

She’s halfway out the door when she turns back and says, “This isn’t over, Asriel. Far from it.”

And she steps out into the hall, the golden monkey trailing behind her.

-x-

He arrives at Jordan College in the middle of the night.

Marisa won’t follow him here, she has no power in this place, but all the same he can’t stop looking over his shoulder as he walks between the buildings and bangs on the Master’s door, very reminiscent of the way he did years ago. The water may have receded now, Lyra may be able to walk, but the danger has still not abated. There are still very real threats out there.

“Where is she?” He says, as soon as the Master greets him.

“She’s in her room, my Lord. Asleep.”

“I want to see her.”

The Master looks unimpressed. “It is the middle of the night. And she is asleep.”

“I am very aware of what time it is,” he snaps. “I want to see her”

He is led up to Lyra’s room and glares at the servant until he is left alone. Steeling himself, taking a deep breath, he opens the door quietly and walks in.

It’s been quite a while he seen her last, a year or more, and in that time it seems she has grown and yet not at all. Her bed seems to dwarf her and only her little face, framed by her dark hair, is visible in the moonlight.

She looks like her mother, what he imagines Marisa would have looked like at this age. They say she’s quick, flighty, has even tried to climb onto the rooftops on occasion, and Asriel doubts it will be too long before she and Pantalaimon succeed.

There’s an urge within him, quite suddenly, to stroke her cheek, the way he once did with Marisa. It’s a fierce urge, but one that he cannot bring himself to give into. Instead, he turns away and heads for the door.

There’s a whimper, the sound of a child disturbed in sleep. A shuffle in sheets. He pauses at the door. Stelmaria glances at him.

“Hush,” he says once, softly, not turning around. The shuffling stops. Lyra’s breathing evens out.

He releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding before leaving.

-x-

Asriel stays at Jordan for four days.

He makes good use of it his time, secures funding he missed out on at the ball and revisits some manuscripts for clues. By the afternoon of the third day he has exhausted everything he could possibly be here for but still, he cannot go.

He has dinner with Lyra once. She behaves perfectly well but towards the end twists and turns in her seat, as if itching to get out of the stuffy room and explore.

‘Alright” he relents, “I shall let you go. Just answer me this:” and as she turns her wide eyes to his he almost loses his nerve, suddenly afraid of this four-year-old child with his nose and Marisa’s smile. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” she says decisively. “I am very happy. The happiest in the whole world.”

He nods. “Good. Well then, off you go. Quickly, before I change my mind.”

The Master assures him Lyra is safe, that she is protected and that no harm will come to her from the outside while she is in Jordan’s walls. Asriel thanks him, uncharacteristic, and reminds him that, under no circumstances, should Marisa Coulter be allowed anywhere near his daughter, and that he wants to be informed immediately if she tries.

And then he leaves. Leaves Lyra, leaves Jordan, leaves the whole unpleasant business with its unpleasant memories behind for the wastelands of the North.

It is a very long time before he returns.


End file.
